


Already Gone

by AnneCumberbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, John Watson tries, M/M, No Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Post-Season/Series 04, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Struggling John Watson, Suicidal Thoughts, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Relationships, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCumberbatch/pseuds/AnneCumberbatch
Summary: "And I want you to know/You couldn't have loved me better/But I want you to move on/So I'm already gone"-----------------------------“Sherlock…” John smoothed Sherlock’s shirt out over his chest. “I’m not a good man. I’m not.”“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, John.” Sherlock shifted his hands to hold onto John’s shoulders.“I think you give me too much.”“John…” Sherlock ducked his head towards John and stopped, hovering above John’s lips. “Please. Kiss me again.”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 33
Kudos: 45





	1. I want you to know that it doesn't matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplyclockwork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/gifts).



> Prompt: "I want - no, I need - a super angsty fic that doesn’t keep bringing sherlock and john back together. I want a fight and storming out, and not giving in to the sad pining. I want my heart stomped on, dammit" 
> 
> Thank you, simplyclockwork, for the prompt. I hope this fills your need! 
> 
> \---
> 
> Also inspired by the song Already Gone originally byKelly Clarkson, covered by Sleeping At Last.

“It is what it is.”

John pressed his face against Sherlock’s shirt, feeling his tears dampen the material, his hand sliding down to clutch at the material covering Sherlock’s sides, slipping under his blue dressing gown and grabbing, trying to hold on to the solidity of the man, the rock he so desperately needed. He felt Sherlock’s arms tighten around him as he grabbed onto Sherlock’s body tightly and pressed close as if he were trying to burrow beneath the skin separating him from Sherlock’s heart beating solidly beneath his cheek. He felt Sherlock’s head brushing the top of his own as they each held on tighter. John closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s chest, inhaling the comforting blend of Sherlock’s spiced cologne and the smell of his body.

Sherlock went still at the movement, his hands not releasing from around John.

John felt his heartbeat quicken against his cheek and shifted in the embrace, moving his face up to look at Sherlock, who looked down at him. His eyes were wide and youthful in the naked vulnerability written in his expression. John slid a hand up and gently tugged Sherlock’s face down until their lips met. A shudder ran through Sherlock’s body as John kissed him, their lips meeting once, twice, three times. John slowly and carefully sucked at Sherlock’s bottom lip and nipped at his mouth in a way that drew a moan that rumbled through is chest. John whimpered softly and took a half step back, breaking their kiss.

Sherlock grumbled and shuffled forward, seeking John’s mouth with his own, but John placed a restraining hand on his chest and looked to the side.

Sherlock froze and John could feel his heartbeat quickening beneath his hand in a frantic symphony of staccatos. “I shouldn’t have-” John closed his eyes tightly.

“Don’t.” Sherlock’s voice was quiet.

“Sherlock…” John smoothed Sherlock’s shirt out over his chest. “I’m not a good man. I’m not.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, John.” Sherlock shifted his hands to hold onto John’s shoulders.

“I think you give me too much.”

“John…” Sherlock ducked his head towards John and stopped, hovering above John’s lips. “Please. Kiss me again.”

John tilted his head and acquiesced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome!


	2. Where we take this road

“So, you’re together now?” Greg shuffled his hands into his pocket, eyes on Sherlock hovering over a corpse across the room.

John glanced aside at him. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

“Congratulations, mate. I was wondering why his majesty was so chipper this morning.”

“Bodies always make him chipper, Greg.” John turned his eyes back to watch his partner swish his coat backwards and kneel on the floor besides the corpse.

“Yeah but not like this. You’re really making him happy.” Lestrade turned his head to look at John. “It’s good.”

John nodded, before turning to Greg and smiling tightly. “Yeah. Good that he’s happy.”

“When did it happen?”

“A few weeks ago. It’s still pretty new, but we do have something of a foundation to build from.”

“Did he finally tell you?” Greg’s voice was lower to avoid being overheard.

“Tell me what?” John glanced over at Sherlock.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Poor bastard’s been in love with you for years.” Greg chuckled softly.

John’s jaw tightened and he looked at the detective across the room. “He didn’t mention that.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything then. Sorry about that. How did it happen?”

“I kissed him.” John mumbled.

Greg grinned and nudged him. “Well done, you, for making the first move.”

“John.” Sherlock beckoned him over with a finger.

“’scuse me.” John mumbled to Greg as he moved towards Sherlock and leaned over next to him.

“What do you make of this.” Sherlock pointed.”

John’s knees cracked as he made his way lower to the ground to look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome!


	3. But someone's gotta go

John picked at his plate with his chopsticks. He shifted on the sofa where he and Sherlock were sitting cross-legged with take away covering the table in front of them. Telly was mindlessly playing, mere background noise to their ravenous shoving of food from their plates to their mouths. But John had suddenly remembered, after sifting through the evening and recalling the mad dash through alleys, breaking into the brother-in-law’s flat, cornering him and taking him in to be arrested, what Greg had said earlier. He put his plate down on the table, appetite dissipating. Sherlock glanced over at him, mouth full of lo mien and frowned. He swallowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” John looked at the telly, looking at the rerun of QI.

Sherlock put down his plate. “Clearly something.”

“I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.” John glanced at him with a brief smile. “I should head to bed.”

“Oh. Right.” Sherlock hesitated before scooping up their plates and carrying them into the kitchen. “I’ll just put this away then.”

John looked after him. “Were you done?”

“It’s fine!” Sherlock called back to him, placing the leftovers in containers and placing them in the fridge. He walked back into the living room and picked up the take away boxes from the table, piling them into his arms and moving to put them away. “I’ll be done in a minute. Do you need to take a shower?”

“I think we both do.” John stood and went into the kitchen. “If you’re still hungry, you can keep eating.”

Sherlock waved a hand at him. “It’s fine. Transport. Besides, you’re going to bed.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go to bed.” John gave him a look.

Sherlock faltered. “Oh. Do.. Do you not want me to go to bed with you?”

“You don’t have to. Clearly, you’re still hungry.” John waved a hand at him. “Just eat or whatever and come to bed when you’re done.”

Sherlock hesitated. “But, I want to come to bed with you.”

“Yeah, well, I would rather not listen to your stomach grumbling all night, alright? Just eat the rest of your food then you can come to bed.” John left and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, leaving Sherlock standing in the kitchen, holding a takeaway container in his hand and looking after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome!


	4. And I want you to know

John woke up in the middle of the night, his eyes slowly fluttering open and the ceiling gently coming into focus. Small shafts of light spread across the plaster from the window. He shifted slightly and felt arms tighten around his chest and a warm weight move further against his left side. He tilted his head and saw a dim outline of Sherlock sleeping next to him, nuzzling closer. John let his head roll back to look at the ceiling and he sighed softly. Sherlock shifted next to him, making soft sleepy noises. “John?”

“Go back to sleep.” John whispered, moving his arm up to run it through Sherlock’s hair.

“Nightmare?” Sherlock stretched his neck up and planted a soft kiss against John’s neck.

“No, just can’t sleep. It’s alright, love.”

Sherlock snuggled further against his side and nodded. “Mhm… night..” His breathing evened out again.

John let his hand fall away from Sherlock’s head. _Poor bastard’s been in love with you for years._ John closed his eyes tightly. How could he not have seen it? How could he not have known? It wasn’t as if Sherlock had ever been forthcoming with any indication that he had actual feelings of that sort. Hell, John himself was the one who initiated their entire current relationship. They wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for that kiss. And then to find out Sherlock had been pining after him for years? And apparently everyone could see and knew but him. Had Mary known? Is that what she had been hinting at this entire time? Post-death trying to nudge him in Sherlock’s direction?

Sherlock snuffled softly in his sleep, his hand gently caressing John’s opposite side.

John closed his eyes. What was he doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome!


	5. You couldn't have loved me better

Sherlock and John sat on a Victorian settee; the upholstery elaborate but worn beneath them. The room around them was simple, but elegant with touches of modern technology that John wouldn’t be surprised to learn were not in public development yet. Mycroft sat opposite, pouring tea for the members of their small group. For once, Sherlock wasn’t scowling at his kin, but relaxed, distracted by an antique medical text Mycroft had just gifted him.

John accepted a cup of tea from Mycroft’s reedy fingers and nodded his thanks. “All due respect, but why are we here?”

“I merely wanted to offer my congratulations to yourself and my brother upon your partnership.” Mycroft held a cup in Sherlock’s general direction. Sherlock failed to look up from the book until John nudged him and he hummed and stretched out his hand, still not looking up. Mycroft sighed and placed the china cup into Sherlock’s fingers. “I do hope your both are adjusting well to your new life statuses?”

“Life status is not a term I would use.” John sipped his tea.

“Most of what Mycroft says would never come from your mouth, John.” Sherlock leaned over and kissed John’s cheek, his eyes still on the pages of his book.

“Ta, love.” John murmured.

Mycroft’s watchful eyes never left John’s face. “Brother mine, I do believe Cook has prepared your favourite biscuits today. If you would be so kind as to fetch a plate of them from the kitchen.”

Sherlock gave him a look. “Why do you have servants if you don’t use them?”

Mycroft met his gaze. “Clearly I wish to discuss something with Dr. Watson that I would rather you not be present for. If you could give us the room for a moment, brother mine.”

Sherlock huffed. “Absolutely not. Anything you want to say to John, you can say to me. I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

John rested a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “It’ll just be a minute, love, and I’m sure whatever Mycroft has to say will be horribly boring.”

Sherlock gave him a questioning look before folding the book and tucking it between his arm. “I’ll only be a minute. Yell if he bothers you.”

John smirked at him. “Whatever could he do to me?”

Sherlock grinned back at him before slipping out of the room.

After he left, Mycroft stood and closed the door firmly behind him before turning to face John. “What are you playing at, Doctor Watson?”

John blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why are you doing this to him? I never knew you could be so cruel to a man you considered your best friend.”

John paled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mycroft folded his arms. “My brother, against all reason, has quite clearly fallen in love with you.” John looked immediately to the floor. “I see you are not unfamiliar with his feelings. Why, then, are you putting him through this? Giving him hope that you might someday return his feelings?”

“I am not trying to be cruel. I do care for him.” John met Mycroft’s gaze. “I love him.”

“Then what, pray tell, is the problem.” Mycroft’s tone sharpened. “I hope you realise what will befall you if you harm my brother again.”

John flinched and set the cup of tea down on the table. “Yes, I know. I don’t want to hurt him. I just… I didn’t know how much he cared.” 

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t realise how much my brother, who jumped off a building and spent two years in exile facing death and torture for _you_ , who was nearly murdered twice for _you_ , who lives and breathes for a taste of affection from _you._ You didn’t realise how much he cared about you? I find that difficult to believe. You are a slow man, Dr. Watson, but not a stupid one.”

“He shouldn’t have…” John’s voice was soft. He closed his eyes, a hand coming up to rub at his forehead. “He shouldn’t have done all that for me… I don’t understand why he would do that for me.”

“Because, for some unconceivable reason, he fell in love with you. And now you have given him the idea, God above knows why, that you reciprocate his feelings.” Mycroft took a step closer.

“I do love him.” John closed his eyes tightly. “I do. I am trying.”

Mycroft stopped in front of him, looking down. “Is that really the best you can do? For the man who gave up everything in his life for you. You’re _trying_? Well, try harder.”

John nodded. “I will. I will.”

“Good.” Mycroft settled back into his seat. “Do straighten up, I hear him returning.”

John straightened and picked up his cup before Sherlock re-entered the room, holding his book in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. “I do hope you are done terrorizing my partner, brother dear. You do tend to drone on.” Sherlock set the plate on the table and faltered slightly, seeing John’s face. He paused. “What’s wrong?”

John tried for a smile and one flickered across his face. He tried again, smiling up at Sherlock. “Nothing, my love. Come have a sit and let me see that book.”

Sherlock took him in a moment before sitting on the sofa next to him and settling close, opening the book on top of both of their legs, his excitement with the publication re-appearing. “This is the original Hungarian text in which he illustrates the importance of hand-washing. Have you heard of Semmelweis?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome!


	6. But I want you to move on

Sherlock collapsed back onto the bed, gasping, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled the sheet back and John crawled up his body before falling onto the bed next to him, breathing heavily. A thin sheen shone on his lips and Sherlock leaned over and kissed it away, licking into his mouth before pressing kisses to his lips and down the side of his face along his cheekbone. His hand trailed over John’s chest. He murmured into John’s skin as his hand trailed lower. “Can I?”

John placed his hand over Sherlock’s pinning it to his lower chest. “I’m good. Already took care of it.” He turned and met Sherlock’s lips in a kiss.

Sherlock pulled away from him. “John. Am I that bad at sex?”

John’s brow furrowed. “What? No, you’re not bad at sex.”

“Then why won’t you let me touch you.” Sherlock raised himself up on his elbow and looked down at John. “You don’t let me touch you at all anymore. Have I done something to offend you with the way I do it?”

John rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. “No. No, of course not. It’s just always easier to take care of it myself.”

“But I _want_ to take care of it. It’s not a matter of convenience, it’s a matter of desire. I want to touch you, John. I want to bring you off the same way you do with me. It’s not fair.”

“You sound like a child.”

Sherlock jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “I beg your pardon?”

“You sound like a child, Sherlock.” John rolled over and sat up, his legs swinging off the other side of the bed. “Most people would be thrilled they don’t have to reciprocate. Just enjoy it and shut up about it.”

Sherlock gaped after him as John stood, wrapped himself in his dressing gown and walked out into the kitchen. After a minute he scrambled up himself and threw on his dressing gown and went after him. “John! You don’t get to walk away from this conversation!”

“Like hell I do, I just did.” John pulled two mugs down from the cabinet.

“No, you don’t.” Sherlock stopped next to the fridge and crossed his arms. “What the hell are you talking about, that is not how a relationship works and you know it. We’re equal partners in this. Having sex with you is not a _chore_.” He waved his hand at him.

“And what do you know about how relationships work, Sherlock?” John snipped back at him. “You’ve never been in one before.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you behaving this way? Is this why none of your other partners wanted to stay with you? Your irritating self-absorbed perception of life?”

“Self-absorbed?” John scoffed. “I just sucked you off not two minutes ago. How is that self-absorbed?”

“How is it not?” Sherlock snapped back at him. “If you don’t enjoy it, why do you do it?”

“Because it feels fucking amazing to get sucked off!” John slammed one of the mugs down onto the counter.

“Then why don’t you let me do it to you!!”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“Why not?” Sherlock pushed, stepping closer.

“Because-” John turned back to the counter, his hands running through his hair.

“Why, John?” Sherlock’s voice softened. “If I’m bad at it, then let me practice. I promise I’ll get better.”

“You’re not bad at it.” John’s voice was quiet.

“Then why?” Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist and nuzzled gently into his neck.

“Because…” John closed his eyes. “I feel so guilty when you do it. It feels like you’re ripping my heart out of my chest.”

“Why, John?” Sherlock kissed his neck. “I love doing it. I love touching you in any way. I adore you. I adore everything about you.”

“Because I don’t.” John whispered.

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t feel the same.”

Sherlock stiffened. He straightened and pulled away from John, putting space between their bodies. “Oh. I see.”

“And I can’t let you do that because it’s just not right. It’s not right for you to be doing any more for me. You’ve done so much for me and I just don’t deserve it.”

“John…” Sherlock’s voice cracked, and he reached a hand out for John’s arm.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” John flinched away from him.

“John, I don’t understand. How long have you felt like this?” Sherlock’s voice raised slightly in pitch.

“For a while.” John moved away from him towards the bedroom. “I… I need to go out.”

“No, don’t leave. Stay. Talk this through with me. We’ll fix this, I promise.” Sherlock followed him into the bedroom.

John dragged on pants, jeans, vest, and shirt. “I can’t stay.” He knelt and put on his socks and shoes.

Sherlock reached out and grabbed his arm. “Yes, you can. Just stay and talk to me, please, John. Don’t leave, please.”

John’s hand shook beside him as he paused for a minute and closed his eyes tightly. “Sherlock…”

“Stay, John.” Sherlock pleaded with him.

“I can’t.” John pushed past him and headed for the door before pausing and turning around. He came back to Sherlock and pressed a firm kiss on his cheek. John lingered for a moment, his eyes closed, absorbing the feel of Sherlock’s skin beneath his lips, the warmth of his body against his own, the smell of his skin. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock tried to reach out and grab him, but John shook him off. Sherlock followed him down the stairs. “John. John! John, please!”

John barreled out the door and it slammed shut behind him, leaving Sherlock on the stairs in his dressing gown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome!


	7. So I'm already gone

The wind rustled through John’s short blond-grey hair. He closed his dark blue eyes for a moment against the wind before opening them again and looking out over the grey city he has come to know so well. He used to feel something for the city, fondness, loyalty, something. Anything. He hasn’t felt anything for quite some time.

He shuffled his feet towards the edge, toeing the line. All his life, he’d been toeing the line, almost being good enough, but never quite making it.

He toed the line when his mother died because he hadn’t been quick enough returning home from getting groceries and she had choked to death on her own drunken vomit. When his father ended up in prison for manslaughter while driving drunk because John had been studying to take his final exam for med school and missed his call to come pick him up. When Harry broke up a marriage by sleeping with a man’s wife and then married her. He toed the line when friend after friend bled out beneath his hands under the scorching desert sun. When he failed to save his best friend Bill Murray in the field because he got shot in the bloody shoulder. When he couldn’t save his best friend again from jumping off a fucking building and shattering his skull on the pavement. When he beat his best friend, who had just come back from being tortured. When he stayed with his wife after he shot his best friend and he almost died forever. When he failed to save his wife from dying. When he tried to love Sherlock as he deserved to be loved. He had tried so bloody hard, but he knew that he would never be enough. He had never been enough. Sherlock deserved someone so much better than him, someone who had managed to succeed. Someone who could properly take care of him and love him properly, entirely.

John shut his eyes again. The emptiness in his chest ached, an ache that spread throughout his body. It was time to stop toeing the line and take the step. Take the step and complete his story. To close the book on the life of a man who was never able to succeed in anything, who, in the end, always lost everyone he tried to love. It was safer for Sherlock this way. Better for everyone. As he opened his eyes again and looked down at the pavement far below him, the people walking in their lives without an idea that he even existed. He wondered if any of them could stop him. Would it even matter if they tried? Who would know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and critiques are always welcome!


End file.
